


housefly

by naveed



Category: Holby City
Genre: Mindfuck, Past Abuse, bad thoughts and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 07:17:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naveed/pseuds/naveed
Summary: “some things were in the wrong placebut i didn't know the difference”[ map - $waggot ]





	housefly

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for the obvious things.
> 
> not all things written here are true about abusers. what i try to do is get inside the thought process which could draw dom back to isaac. one thing should be clear and that is that isaac is not the answer.

This time, of all times, he thought he got lucky.

Fuck, he got more than lucky. Dom got married. He was gonna spend the rest of his life with one person. One stupid person, but stupid in the way that makes you love him more. Stupid, and clumsy, and sweet and thoughtful and kind. All his, forever. And he was okay with that.

Because, let’s face it, the phrase “track record” alone sends a chill down Dom’s spine. There’s been liars, cheaters, ne’er-do-gooders. There’s been people too good for him. There’s been people who remain unredeemed. There’s been literal criminals, superiors, strangers. And there’s been Isaac.

No, we don’t talk about Isaac. His name is followed by a shake of the head, a sigh, a dismissive look away. He’s a figment; he’s the past. Just like the bruises on the ribs and the shins. They fade away. Dom gets better. Isaac disappears. His name is floating in the air but there’s nothing to it anymore, and Dom is no longer afraid.

So we don’t talk about Isaac. Because there’s nothing to talk about.

You want something to talk about? Lofty, the husband, slept with someone else. Sweet, thoughtful and kind Lofty, had sex with a stranger. Is it Lofty or is it Ben, now? Or Benjamin? His gran calls him Piglet. Ben Benjamin Piglet, and his middle name is Chessington. Stupid name. Absolutely fucking stupid name. God, Dom hates his name so much. His guts twist just thinking about his name.

Track record: 0%.

Dom sighs heavily and leans back against the wall. He managed another shift. Burying yourself in patients works, but it’s temporary. Slowly but surely, things start to resurface. The same things you woke up with, and the same things you’ll go to sleep with. Dom did surgery, and Lofty slept with someone else. That’s never gonna change. Reality sets in again.

Let’s go feral. Let’s do something stupid. Dom’s brain runs in circles; let’s go cause a scene. Let’s go and take some steroids. No, don’t do that. Let’s have sex with a stranger. Dom isn’t really sure he wants to. Let’s, um, let’s, uh, well, I don’t know, let’s go and sit in the locker room and cry for a bit. Maybe. Yeah. Okay, that’s agreeable.

Sometimes you can’t cry, and you just sit and stare at the wall, pretending to. That’s what Dom’s doing right now. He’s crying on the inside, mind noisy with all the things that have gone wrong. His body just feels completely numb. Is this what dissociating feels like? Regardless, it’s not as satisfying as a proper sob. A full-on, movie star weep and wail. Let’s go hysterical, his head says. Nope, says his body. Let’s just sit here until the silence swallows us up.

The strip light above his head flickers. It’s never done that before. Ten minutes pass. Loud heart monitors echoing through the corridor seem to signify that someone is dying. Dom’s natural doctor instincts to run and help, they stick a hand out from under a blanket in his gut, and say, not right now.

-

Everybody preaches how important it is to talk. You can’t keep things inside you forever, they say, or you’ll explode. But as soon as Isaac gets mentioned, everybody cowers away. Dom’s not afraid of him anymore. But everyone else, they’re still scared of the concept.

Dom stares at the face on his screen. The biggest, most disturbing thing, is that Isaac has a beard.

Why does he have a beard? He looks too different, and Dom needs him to look the same. He needs him to look the same as when he pushed him to the ground and kicked him til he saw stars. Now he’s grown a beard, he could be a different person. He could come up to Dom and say, “hi, my name’s John Smith,” and Dom would just say, “hi Mr Smith, nice to meet you.” With the beard, he only bears a resemblance to the Isaac he knew. If he looked the same, it would make sense to still be angry. Dom’s feelings are misdirected. Mr Smith never did what Isaac did.

The thought process between seeing his face and sending him a message remains unknown to Dom. He’s not sure he even thought at all. But time passes, and Dom holds onto his phone so tight his knuckles go white. The industrial lighting of a dark corner of the hospital makes him feel cold. It glares in one corner of his eye. He bounces his leg. What the fuck is he doing here?

This was a bad idea. Dom starts to walk towards the door, but there’s someone in the way. He stops immediately. A wave of dizziness his him for a millisecond, and suddenly he’s not cold anymore.

“Does your husband know you’re out hooking up with strange men?”

Don’t say that. Don’t say that. Dom stares at him, head reeling and empty at the same time. Every angry, violent thing he’s ever wanted to spit in the face of the man who fucked him up so royally, just disappears. He can’t say any of it. Isaac looks him in the eyes.

“Sorry,” Dom says, and goes to walk right past him. Isaac puts a hand out, and Dom stops.

“You must have messaged me for a reason.” His hand stays hovered by Dom’s elbow. He doesn’t touch him. He turns so they’re face-to-face again, closer now, and looks up to his eyes. Dom isn’t sure if he seems different, or if he really has forgotten how he used to be. Isaac glances to the floor and opens his mouth, but closes it with a sigh and no words. Then, he looks up again, with a softer expression, and says, “I’ve changed.”

A little part of Dom has dreamed of hearing that for years. _Really?_ , is his immediate thought. _That’s good_ , is the second. _People don’t change_ , is the third.

People don’t change. Who came up with that? Lofty changed. Lofty was too big a pacifist to kill a housefly. Then Lofty fucked a stranger.

So, why can’t Isaac change? He’s grown a beard. And it has been years. Someone once said to Dom that people who do what Isaac did will do it forever. But here and now, Isaac’s hand is hovering by Dom’s elbow, and when Dom looks down at it, Isaac lowers it back towards himself. Dom looks back up to his eyes, and in the cold white shadows, he sees remorse.

 _We don’t talk about Isaac_ , they all say. Well, maybe it’s time we did.

-

 _Come on_ , he says with his eyes. _Just give me a chance._

Isaac stares at Dom from across the ward, until his dad tugs on his hand, and he turns around. Dom carries on watching him, as Isaac reaches over and adjusts the pillows. Bedside manner. He did that for Dom. He hurt him, he apologised, they carry on. He’ll admit that some days, it was like the bad stuff never even happened.

He had more of those days with Lofty. But now Lofty’s gone and they’re still married, so every new day is a bad one, and eventually the bad days with Isaac will be outnumbered by the days Dom remains married to a man who slept with someone else.

He looks back down at his paperwork. He can’t think. He wishes he was a smoker so he could go out to the Peace Garden and exhale his problems in exchange for lung cancer.

Alternatively, you can still go outside and just breathe normal car park air. He decides that’s a good idea. He decides that if he doesn’t do that right now, he just might die.

The wheels of the chair scrape sideways against the linoleum. Dom has to breathe for a moment when he gets on his feet, before his vision steadies and he can start walking. Over his shoulder, Isaac looksat him. Dom keeps his head down and tries his hardest not to stumble out of the ward. He can hear someone approaching him. Everything feels loud, and hot, and dizzying, until –

“Dominic,” Isaac calls in a hushed tone behind him. Dom turns around before he reaches the double doors.

“They’ll kick you out for talking to me.”

“I don’t care,” Isaac whispers, “I need to know what you’re thinking.”

“I need time by myself,” Dom says, feigning a stern front while his hands start to shake. “I’m sorry.”

He turns around to leave, but the arm he uses to reach out to the door gets caught in the air. Isaac’s hand is a chain around his wrist and Dom turns around with a thumping heart. Please don’t hurt me, Isaac.

Neither of them say anything. Isaac looks down at their hands. Dom examines his face; he’s just staring, like he’s never seen them before. Isaac exhales shortly before his grip loosens a little. Just not all the way.

“I want to know you again.”

Dom is not afraid of Isaac, he says. He’s not afraid of hearing his name or seeing his face. He’s not afraid of concrete memories or abstract nightmares. He’s not afraid of fear.

But now Isaac is stood in front of him, with a hand on his wrist and sadness in his eyes. And now, it’s all real again. And there’s a reason why people in hysterics scream, _this isn’t real, this isn’t real,_ because when something is real, you can’t take it back. You have no control.

Isaac, he has control. This is what makes him safe. This is what makes him dangerous.


End file.
